In the evening, the boy climbed the small stairs used for repairing the temple walls, making his way to the summit. The wind from the east blew against his face, carrying the sounds of desert creatures and the distant caravans, whose noise was louder than any other. He gazed at the sky; the view of the stars from here was less bright than before. He had been watching them all the way from Egypt. The caravans, unlike the temple, did not emit much light and extinguished their torches at night to avoid attracting bandits. The view of the stars was clearer, unlike the temple, which shone with many lights. Despite all this, the view of the stars was majestic from this height.
"Perhaps this height has made a difference," he thought, then paused, his thoughts following each other, "Or perhaps the holiness of the temple, or perhaps…" His mind wandered to the girl he had met today. He felt as if he should have shared more about himself with her, and there were other stories he had wished he'd told. The hours of the day seemed incomplete, as night quickly fell.
"I should have asked her name," he thought to himself, realizing he hadn't shared his own name either. He pulled out the letter she had given him, turning it over in his hands, feeling something in his heart as he touched it. After a few moments, he tucked the letter back among his books and looked toward the sky again. Everything was the same as before—the stars still in place, the wind from the East still blowing—but he was sure that something inside him had changed.
A shooting star passed slowly across the sky, as though waiting for him to make a wish. He remembered the old belief that meteors carried wishes from the earth to the sky, and he used to make a wish each time he saw one. But this time, he chose not to say anything. He simply watched the star until it disappeared. The boy didn't believe that stars or meteors granted wishes. He believed that wishes were made once in early life, and then they remained stored in the mind until asked for again.
What is your wish in this life? He thought to himself. His answer was clear: "To sail in the blue, until I reach that land I have always dreamed of. One true wish that time does not change. We spend a lifetime seeking it." He believed that every creature, in the east or west of the earth, has a purpose they are meant to fulfill in a time that varies from person to person. When their time is up, they die—whether or not they achieved their purpose. He sat there, examining the place, looking at the sky and enjoying its beauty, until he eventually fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, the boy woke unusually early. He checked to make sure his bag was still next to him. It felt more valuable than ever, even though his father's box had been the reason for his long journey. He had never been afraid of losing it before, but now, for some reason, he felt differently. He knew it was because of the letter, though he didn't want to admit it to himself.
A few minutes later, he found himself in the market, the same place where he had met the girl. He spread out his cloth on the ground, placing his books, which he had grown less attached to. Time passed quickly, but no one seemed interested in his books. One or two people walked by, but after a brief exchange, they left without buying anything. His attention was drawn to a nearby box, where people from the temple placed their letters. He watched as each person approached. His focus grew even sharper when a girl came close, but the person he had been waiting for had yet to arrive.
"Isn't the market getting bigger every day?" a voice suddenly spoke from beside him.
He turned to see a woman, perhaps in her forties, who was offering fabrics for sale. He hadn't noticed her before.
"Yes, there are more of them today," the boy replied, though he hadn't noticed any change in the number of people. He wasn't sure why he agreed with her, but maybe she was just trying to make conversation, like all vendors did. Every seller always spoke first—talking about the weather, their sales, or how today's business had been slower than yesterday's.
"I've been noticing you here," the woman continued. "Are you one of the booksellers?" She sounded pleasant, lacking the usual artificial tone many vendors had.
The boy felt he should stop selling his books. Lately, he had answered that question too many times, and he thought booksellers were unlucky. Everyone doubted whether they were real sellers, and most people were more interested in their own lives than in the books.
"Yes, I just want to exchange the books I have for other books," he answered, and there was a long silence.
Then, just as he turned his gaze back to the box, he noticed someone standing in front of him. It was her—the letter girl. She had clearly been standing there for a short while, rooted to the ground, her hands hidden behind her back, as if she were carrying something. In a moment, she brought out a book and extended it toward him.
"I want to exchange this book for another book," the girl said.